


Saudade

by cyanideinsomnia



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Porn, Biting, Drunkenness, Eye Trauma, Feelings Realization, Forced Orgasm, Frottage, Ghost Goat Lucio (The Arcana), Ghost Sex, Grief/Mourning, Grinding, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Mild Blood, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Possessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:41:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23040391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyanideinsomnia/pseuds/cyanideinsomnia
Summary: Saudade - the feeling you get when you realize something you once lost is lost forever, and you can never get it back again.
Relationships: Lucio/Valerius (The Arcana)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 38





	Saudade

**Author's Note:**

> I took the word and meaning from a quote I saw, so I'm not actually sure it means that n I'll change it if it doesn't 
> 
> I dont know if valerius has made his first deal yet, but he's Stressed and probably wouldn't mind being woken up for this

Shattering glass and a discordant, desperate yowl echoed down the hallway, interrupting the whispers in the dark. There had possibly been words, indicating it was human - or human enough, in any case.

Lucio crept to the doorway of his bedroom, slowly poking his snout into the gray abyss, pointed ears perked for further noises. 

At the edge of his domain there was a humanoid shape slumped against the wall, unmoving, limbs awkwardly tucked up against their body as though they weren’t sure where to go. The clothing seemed extra drab but still elegant, a messy braid half-pulled apart from frustration draped across slumped shoulders. He could smell wine, noticed a spray of what should be crimson across the eyes of one of his own portraits, a dire insult lessened by most of the fluid spattering the wall around it instead.

Consul Valerius. It had been ages since he’d seen him - he kept away from the hounding flock of demons at his door, which was a pity, because he was the only one of the lot he could stand.

The clicking of manicured claws heralded the arrival of his dogs, trotting up the steps behind Valerius’ slumped form. They crouched and sniffed him, a curious nudge of Mercedes’ nose sending him sliding the rest of the way to the floor, clearly unconscious. Both hounds glanced towards their master down the hall, expectantly wagging their tails.

Well, it wouldn’t do to just leave him lying there, would it? Who knows when the next visitor would arrive to collect him?

Without a second thought Lucio trotted out of hiding, making his way down the hall to his visitor and his dogs, onyx hooves stopping short of outstretched fingertips. He sunk down on his haunches next to him, ears flicking in contemplation, trying to figure out the logistics - surely this wouldn’t be much more difficult than rattling a few chains, right? It wasn’t as if Valerius was particularly hefty.

Silver fingers wrapped tightly around the Consul’s collar, tugging him upwards - and then the fabric slipped through his grip, his face colliding with the floor with a soft grunt. The ghost paused, waiting to see if he’d wake up before trying again, this time attempting to haul him over his shoulder, his arm shifting to loop around his waist, wishing he had both arms to do this with. 

He managed to stand halfway up before Valerius slid out of his grip again, wincing as the impact was that much harder - and yet he didn’t stir. Damn, that must be some good wine.

Finally his dogs seemed to take pity on him, Mercedes sinking her teeth into a sleeve, Melchior mouthing at his shawl first before settling on his braid, leading the charge towards the master bedroom with a sharp tug, heedless of the pained groan from his unconscious prey. Lucio grabbed for Valerius’ collar again, trying to prevent his head from scraping the floor as he was ignobly dragged down the hallway by his pets.

Once he’d been pulled across the threshold, the dogs promptly dropped him on the floor in the middle of the room, sniffing him again - as though checking he was still alive - before padding away to their step, having decided their job was done. 

Their master heaved a deep sigh and started the process of trying to lift dead weight all over again, slowly easing him up onto the ash-strewn bed, turning him over on his back so he wouldn’t suffocate in either his own vomit or the earthly remains of the creature that had kidnapped him. His clothes and hair were already covered in the stuff, and his position was rather undignified, limbs akimbo.

Now that he  _ had  _ him… he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with him. 

Lucio awkwardly perched on the side of the bed next to him, long neck craning to peer over his prize. He knew his features would be blurred, like ink on wet parchment - but he still noticed the dark stains running down from the corners of his eyes, along his elegant cheekbones, slightly shiny in the dim moonlight.

He’d been crying, before he’d caught him. This was a glimpse of vulnerability he’d never seen, even when he was dying. Something had finally shattered that cold facade.

He distantly remembered the desperate yowl, trying to pick out words from the gray haze of memory. His position in the wing, the wine across the portrait. His ears dropped, head turning away, something between guilt and vindication drawing through him like a knife. 

It was him. Valerius was mourning him.

Red eyes gazed down at his own monstrous hand, suddenly so much larger and more disgusting than he remembered. He had briefly toyed with the idea of waking him up, of asking for  _ real  _ companionship instead of silently co-existing until he was forced to release him, but now … he couldn’t do it. 

He couldn’t let him see him like this. 

The knife twisted, turning to frustration in his chest, too-long fingers curling into a fist. He tried to hold onto that, tried to hate him for having the gall to cry for him and yet couldn’t, wouldn’t come any closer than the edge of the hall, couldn’t see for himself what had really happened to him. He didn’t  _ deserve _ to lie in his bed in his company. He should have left the coward where he found him, avoided the whole mess.

His gaze flicked back towards his captive, anger slipping through his claws as he saw the stains again. Damn him. At least  _ someone _ was mourning. That was probably all he was going to get.

***

Valerius found himself standing at the top of the stone staircase leading into the Count’s wing, and he knew in an instant this must be a dream.

His dreams had become more lucid lately, and this wasn’t the first time he’d found himself gazing down the long hall as an outsider looking in. Usually it shifted while he watched, twisted into something more palatable for his conscious mind - but this time, it was very much concrete, very much Lucio’s wing.

For a brief, sickening moment he found himself gazing up from the floor, dark walls and broken sobs, like a kicked dog lying helplessly at the edge of its master’s yard, choking on the chain wrapped too tightly around its neck. The hall did twist, but only enough that he was at once the dog and the pitiless observer, staring down at himself with disgust.

This, too, was not an uncommon occurrence. Watching himself from the outside. Splitting further apart the longer Vesuvia wore him down.

He shook his head, and the crumpled, disgraceful heap on the floor was gone, allowing him to explore the hallway in peace. Slow methodical steps drawn along the floor as though compelled, letting himself be led as far as it wanted him to go.

That oddly familiar oppressive,  _ haunted  _ feeling he’d caught flashes of before still permeated the hallway, but the hallway itself was vibrant and red like any other hall in the Palace, perhaps more so, no sign of dust or ash, gleaming marble floors and columns, immaculate portraits-- 

Portraits that  _ would  _ be immaculate, if it weren’t for the  _ deep gouges in each of their eyes _ .

Against his better judgment, he ran his fingers along the torn edges of canvas, shuddering at the unnatural, almost flesh-like warmth, briefly expecting it to bleed beneath his touch. It was as if some horrible beast had gone through and chewed them apart in a fit of rage - and yet only the eyes were destroyed, as if this was planned. 

He couldn’t shake the feeling that this was more wrong than the vibrance in the halls, like a glimpse of something he wasn’t meant to see just yet. He’d seen them not too long before - gazing down on him as he screamed at them, demanding help from impassable painted faces, Vesuvia is falling apart and so is he - albeit in brief flashes before his nerves quailed and he had to abscond. They were undamaged, just a little dusty. 

Weren’t they?

Something at the other end of the hall was distantly tugging at him, calling for him, and he was only too happy to oblige, moving away from the destroyed portraits before he could stare too closely into their open wounds. 

The hallway stretched out for nigh-on eternity before him as one might expect in a dream, but he knew he’d make it to the other side, otherwise it wouldn’t be so compelling. He wondered why it _ was _ quite so compelling. As far as he knew, nothing waited for him there but tragic memories. 

Tsk, too cowardly to properly investigate in his waking world, now he was relying on his dreams to make something up.

As he approached, the doors to the master bedroom - closed, he remembered, not by choice, a precaution to keep the Plague in or the rabble out; he also remembered they were open, at the end, to allow the doctor to escape - began to shift, slowly creaking open into the hall, a peek of the room inside just as bright and vibrant red as the hallway. 

A peek partially obscured by an achingly familiar humanoid shape casually draped between the doors, red and white and gold, broad shoulders and cocked hips, an arrogant grin stretching pale lips, as vibrant and  _ alive _ as his wing.

"Took you long enough," Lucio drawled.

Without a second thought Valerius closed the gap between them in a desperate, shameless lunge, only a little sorry for the Count’s startled squawk as he knocked him to the floor, crushing their lips together in a kiss almost hard enough to draw blood, grabbing onto him tight and possessive as though he'd vanish otherwise. A year of conflicted emotion kept carefully guarded and repressed - wanting, hating, yearning, missing,  _ grieving  _ \- violently swept through him all at once, crushing him beneath it, undoubtedly bleeding through desperate lips.

It didn't matter that this was nothing like their relationship in life, that Lucio may have even been disgusted by him in this vulnerable state. 

He was alive.

His grip only loosened when he felt the familiar warmth of an equally possessive hand against his back, a silent reminder that he was still here, and he only pulled back with some reluctance when he felt his lungs begin to burn, keeping his face close to allow himself little hazy indulgences of lips brushing together but not yet locked, trading soft panting breaths as they both recovered.

"... I missed you." He murmured against his lips, a light smile playing on his own as he realized how much of an understatement that was given their position. "I suppose that was rather obvious."

"A little bit, yeah. I like it. You should hurl yourself into my arms more often."

The Consul forcibly ignored the pang of painful truth that attempted to supersede that statement, focusing instead on the warmth of the other body pinned beneath him, making no move to get up, the hand on his back sliding down to rest against his hip, soft lips closing the gap between them once more with another kiss, and another, and another, not enough, never enough, he could do this forever if he wasn’t careful.

Oh, but they could be doing so much  _ more _ .

He hadn't been celibate by any means, taking the occasional hapless servant as a bed warmer to calm his nerves, but Lucio had always awakened a greater hunger in him, and this time was no different - perhaps more so, practically starving in his absence.

Though the carpet was plush beneath his knees, and he’d allowed such desperate forays in the past, Valerius felt the consummation of a year lost deserved no less than the luxury of the big red bed, and began to disentangle himself - reluctantly, with many more kisses - to rise to his feet, pausing on his hands and knees to simply gaze down upon his prize with a sort of reverence, following a stupid impulse to gaze into his eyes.

Instead of piercing silver staring back, bloodshot or otherwise, there was  _ nothing _ . Two gaping sockets, gouged out like his portraits, complete with torn canvas at the edges instead of flesh.

How did he not notice that before?

He flinched back, his own eyes widening with horror the longer he looked at them, couldn’t stop looking at them, no matter how hard he tried. A trembling hand reached up to trace the torn edges, hesitating and drawing back before his fingers made contact. He already knew they would be cold and dead, like the paintings were warm and alive.

"What.. what happened to you?" 

Did he know? Did it hurt?

The Count laughed, cold and humorless, like broken glass. "Don't worry about it."

Lucio swiftly caught his hand before it could draw all the way back, lifting it to his lips and pressing a kiss to the knuckles, a warm gesture off-set by the jagged darkness above it. He was paralyzed above him, caught in the abyss, easy for the other man to gently nudge aside and pull to his feet alongside him, tugging him towards the four-poster bed with his usual confidence.

It was clear his affliction hadn't affected his priorities any, although he could have been hiding the pain. He forced himself to look at the sheets instead of the open sockets, trying to reclaim that heady bout of nostalgia. Trying not to sneak little furtive glances towards his face in the hopes that there would be eyes again.

“You’re worrying about it.” There was clear disdain in his voice, as if the idea of a partner being relatively whole and healthy was a trivial annoyance. “If you’re just going to _mother_ me, you can go.”

For a moment the red around him began to fade, as though the room itself was withdrawing at Lucio’s behest. 

His heart leapt into his throat in a jolt of panic at the idea of losing him again so soon, too soon, he just got here, forcibly dragging the spectre of the Count on top of him on the bed as if their combined weight would stop it from leaving, once again smothering him in desperate kisses - his face, his neck, even the torn canvas edges. They were cold and dead and tasted like ash.

“Don’t leave me.” He whimpered against his throat, hating how pathetic it sounded. He’d given this man far too much power over him and they both knew it. “Please.”

“That’s what I thought.”

The room settled as those kisses were returned tenfold, deep and passionate and  _ hungry _ , greedy fingers tugging insistently at his clothing, digging into his skin hard enough to leave bruises in the indents, hardly caring as he grabbed for the crimson fabric and luxurious furs above him with the same savage nature.

They had a lot of catching up to do.

***

Lucio had eventually decided to lie next to Valerius on the bed, half-curled around him in the facsimile of a lover’s embrace made almost comical by the difference in body size, big goat head resting on the pillows next to his human one, idly watching him sleep. 

He couldn’t remember if he could still sleep, like this. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to find out what would happen if he dropped his guard against the whispers in the dark.

After a long moment, the Consul shifted in his drunken slumber as though to stir, brows slightly furrowed above closed eyes. A soft groan drifted up from softer lips before going slack once more, head turning away from him on the pillows.

To his keen ears, it sounded like a plea. 

"Lucio,  _ please _ .."

Distant movement along the bed attracted his attention like a predator catching a hint of prey, glancing downwards to find a familiar tent rising in the fabric of Valerius' robes, made more obvious by the outstretched positioning of his legs. A wicked little grin played at his captor's animal lips.

Ah, so  _ that's _ what he was dreaming about. Not yet too grief stricken to forget that part.

An old hunger stirred inside him, leading his broad silvery hand down to the other man’s hips, grazing rough fingertips along his shaft before he could stop himself. Judging by the shudder of his prone frame, the Consul had actually felt him. Immediately his mind filled with possibilities, thousands of little indulgences he wondered if he could get away with. 

And maybe a few  _ bigger  _ indulgences, if he wanted to push his luck and the limits of Valerius’ stupor. Although he wasn’t sure if this body was equipped like that. He wasn’t sure he wanted to find out.

He pulled his arm back in order to push himself up onto his knees, gazing over his prey with something like reverence. The familiar scent of wine and sex hung in his snout, tantalizing, almost overwhelming against stale air and ash. He wanted to touch him, to taste him, to hear that refined voice scream his name. It had been so goddamn  _ long _ . 

Silver fingers hovered over the exposed skin of his elegant throat - and then hesitated, drawing back. His temptation was momentarily tempered by the realization that he wouldn’t be able to feel it, not like he should. A maddening numb barrier between worlds.

Lucio drew a hiss through sharp teeth and let his hand rest against Valerius’ neck regardless, a soft thrum of warmth and a faint heartbeat thudding against his palm. Like holding a newborn pup in his monstrous hand, so fragile and soft and easy to lose. 

_ Easy to kill _ , a darker part of him whispered, in a voice made of teeth, and for one frightening moment he felt his fingers press down as if compelled, interrupting soft breaths. 

_ Crush him. Break him. It’s what he deserves. _

With a low growl and a violent shake of his goatlike head, he chased away the thought, instead letting his hand slowly drag down to his chest, curling his claws into fabric as best he could, trying to tug his clothing off his body - not  _ tear  _ it, mind you, the Consul wouldn’t forgive him if he tore it. 

He managed to wrest apart faded golden buttons and greige fabric, another tug pulling apart fine white linen, exposing his chest and stomach and the barest hint of sharp hip bones. His hand immediately fell to the skin there, feeling his muscles tense beneath him from a shock of ghostly cold. 

Onyx claws shifted to golden knots keeping his robes tied shut at his waist, scrabbling uselessly at the cord there as his focus slipped, eventually abandoning it in favor of settling himself between splayed thighs, pushing them slightly further apart with the new girth of his own hips. He could feel the faint edge of his cock pressed against his furred stomach, the warmth of his thighs around his waist, the memory of arousal curling through otherwise featureless fluff between his own legs.

The beast leaned over him, pressing more of their bodies together until they were practically flush, lowering his snout to his throat, for the moment just resting his lips against it as he wondered how the hell he was supposed to kiss him like this, if he could kiss him like this. That was arguably one of the best parts.

Slowly he let animal jaws part, suddenly very aware of sharp teeth inches from vulnerable skin, too large and clumsy and easy to lose track. His tongue slid out to taste him, drawing a cold wet line along his collarbones up to his jaw, carefully reaching to pull his face back towards his own, gently but firmly cupping his cheek to hold his head still. Lips were already parted, soft breathing tickling his fur, and without hesitation he slipped his tongue into Valerius' mouth, drinking in the echoes of wine and distantly wondering what that felt like, his own greedy mouth following close behind, trying to capture his lips--

The Consul suddenly flinched against him with a pained whimper, the sharp tang of blood flooding his mouth and snout. He'd accidentally bitten him, no matter how carefully he'd tried to line it up. 

Immediately he released him, letting the other man’s head fall back to the pillows, ears pinned back and heart leaping up into his chest, waiting once again for Valerius to wake up and catch him in the act. Points of blood that looked gray but smelled red still clung to his soft lips, and it was all he could do to keep from swooping back down to clean it up. A different, baser kind of hunger hung in the back of his throat like bile, easier to push down than his lust but only just.

His prey shifted against him but didn’t seem to be waking up, instead arching his back against the sheets, legs shifting closer to his own hips, holding him there as he slowly began to grind against him. Lucio’s breath hitched, a renewed pang of arousal curling through him, and his momentary panic was forgotten as he pressed into it, following his motions at first and then setting his own pace, rough and ruthless to be able to get through the gray barrier between them.

His snout dropped back down to his neck, panting hard against the skin, eyes closed as he allowed the memories of what this _ should _ have been to flood his twisted body - legs tightly fastened around his waist, hands twisted in his hair, clawing at his skin, desperate moans and whimpers against his ear, fire pooling in his gut. Shreds and echoes of pleasure intensified, denied to him for what felt like an eternity before this moment, overwhelming and addictive. 

At first his hand was propped against his lower back to keep their hips close, crushing their bodies together as they rutted against each other like animals - but somewhere along the way he found himself reaching to entangle his monstrous fingers with Valerius’ outstretched ones, holding them tight as though  _ he  _ was the ghost, a stupid sentimental impulse he hadn’t expected himself to indulge.

For a moment he thought he felt those fingers curl inward, the smaller hand holding onto his as though he knew it was there. For a moment he truly felt human and alive again.

He wanted to keep him here forever. Just like this. 

Just like it was supposed to be.

Tensing muscles against his hips and a sharp gasp drawn through clenched teeth reminded him that there was always an end for these things, and he mercilessly ground down harder against him as he felt him teetering over the edge, riding it out with him as far as memory would let him, feeling the faint hint of heat and wetness between cloth, fur and his gray prison.

Lucio allowed himself one last indulgence, leaning down to lick up the blood on his face in lieu of a kiss before easing himself off his prey and the bed.

***

Valerius jolted awake with a deep gasp like a man drowning, lurching upright on the bed.

… the bed. There hadn’t been a  _ bed _ . 

The idea that a Palace servant had simply found his disgraceful drunken carcass and dragged him to a nearby guest room quickly died as he took in his surroundings - red and gold buried in gray ash, ruined fabric hanging across four posters surrounding him, the portrait of the man whose hands and lips he could still feel pressed against his aching skin standing proudly across from him on the back wall, eyes intact.

Lucio’s room.  _ He was in Lucio’s room. _

His heart seized in his chest as horror slowly began to set in, staring down at himself as though this body belonged to someone else. Clothes disheveled and wet, thighs trembling, head spinning. He was half-naked, drunk and covered in his own semen in a dead man’s room, sitting in a dead man’s bed, lying atop a dead man’s remains. 

Dreamed of fucking a dead man  _ in his own ashes.  _

Something in the shadows shifted, dark and horned and gone before he could get a good look at it, though the eerie feeling of eyes on him remained. He found it wasn’t as frightening as the realization of his own desecration. 

Another realization hit him, twice as hard, like a knife piercing his heart while it was still so stupidly fragile from the wine and something he refused to acknowledge. 

Lucio was dead. 

He could see it for himself. There was nothing left. Just ashes and regret. 

The memory of his dream was already beginning to slip away, fading further the harder he chased it, trying to hold onto the last vestige of the Count alive and here with him as long as he could. His own fingers dug into his skin where Lucio’s had been before, as though it would bring them back, covering his mouth with his other hand, heedless of the ashes and what felt like blood smeared across his skin as muffled sobs began to rack his body once more, old wounds ripped wide open. 

He had to leave. He had to get out of here. It hurt too much, fresh, red agony twisting through him, like he was the one dying this time. For a moment he hoped he would.

Instead all he could do was sink back down against the ash-strewn sheets, curling up tight and burrowing his face in the sooty pillows, holding them against his chest and letting the bastard’s earthly remains soak up his helpless, drunken tears. 

It was the closest he would ever be able to get to him again.

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on patreon, join me there for 3/mo and validate my decision to add writing to it: patreon.com/cyanideinsomnia
> 
> a kofi is fine too: ko-fi.com/cyanideinsomnia


End file.
